Chasing Fireflies
by Arainia
Summary: Twoshot. Trying to go back to the way it was is like chasing fireflies. It just couldn't be done. Quinn/Artie. For Violet-Shadow.
1. Chapter 1

**Chasing Fireflies  
By: Arainia**

_For Violet-Shadow. Your comment about the Quinn/Artie pairing was interesting, and so I wrote this. I hope you like it._

A little known fact about Quinn Fabray was that she hadn't always been popular; she hadn't always been comparable to a toothpick in size, and from the way her school career had started, people certainly wouldn't have pegged her to be a future cheerleader, the girlfriend of a football star, no less! See, back before Quinn was a somebody- wait, not just _some_body, she was the It girl of William McKinley high school- she was a nobody. A loser. The chunky blonde girl who sat at the back of the class (actually paying attention to what the teacher said), daydreaming about her life and what the future held. When she was thirteen, she had the crazy ambition to be a veterinarian. Well, she supposed it wasn't that crazy. But when she looked back on her life then, compared to her life now, she couldn't picture herself tending to sick animals. Now she couldn't stand animals- cats in particular- she avoided them at all costs.

There were a lot of things about her past that she avoided at all costs- Artie Abrahams being the number one thing, or rather, person, that she went out of her way to shun.

Another little known fact about Quinn was that, back in her life of obscurity and loser-dom, she'd had a cool best friend. A best friend that she'd been secretly in love with. A best friend who she- almost regrettably. But she'd taught herself not to have regrets- didn't speak to anymore. A best friend whose life she had ruined.

Artie Abrahams had been her best friend. And she was the reason that he was a paraplegic. It was her fault that Artie, once a happy, outgoing individual- "Artie! The life of the party!"- was confined to a wheelchair. Her fault that he was stuck in social obscurity, forced to turn to the members of the glee club for company.

It was so fucked up.

But Quinn had gotten over that long ago- really, she had. She didn't think about Artie _at all_ anymore. He was the furthest thing from her mind. Haunting thoughts of the way he used to be didn't keep her up at night, tossing and turning in her bed, hating herself in the morning when she looked at herself, standing tall in the mirror.

Oh fine. She hadn't gotten over the incident. But really, how could anyone have expected her to? Granted, they all thought she was okay with it- how life had panned out. How she'd risen to the top of the food chain and left him to flounder with the bottom feeders- but for God's sake (sorry God) how could she ever be even close to _normal_ after that?

Of course, if she ever told anyone how she really felt- her parents, Finn, the other "cheerios"- she knew what they'd say: "It wasn't your fault, Quinn. It's horrible that it happened, but it wasn't your fault." Not exactly comforting when Quinn knew that yes, it was horrible that Artie was in a wheelchair now and yes, in spite of what everybody told her following the incident, it was her fault.

She'd known him since the third grade, when his family moved into the house across the street. He was the same age as she was, seven, and he'd been insistently stubborn, trying to get to know her. Quinn, a butterball from her earliest days, hadn't wanted the neighbours to even _see_ her. Everyone at school had started chanting "fatty, fatty!" recently, and she was convinced that now everyone thought she was a stupid cow. But Artie was different. Quinn's mother had forced her out of the house (but she could do nothing to stop the girl from hiding behind her legs) and across the street where Artie and his brother Benjamin were playing with a bottle of bubbles and a bubble wand.

Quinn's mother, a skinny socialite, had introduced herself to the Abrahams gracefully. "Say hi." She'd told Quinn.

"Hi." Quinn mumbled obediently, looking at her pink-and-white shoes. She couldn't face all of the eyes on her- two strange boys, their parents, and Mommy's- she bolted across the street like a jack rabbit on steroids. She'd thought she was safe, hiding on her porch underneath the overhang (she wasn't yet tall enough to reach the doorknob). Artie was the one who followed her.

"Why'd you run away?" He asked. She glared at him. She knew Mommy hated it when she gave people "the look" but she just wanted this boy to go away. He remained there, unaffected as he sat down a few feet away from her patiently.

"I didn't run away." Quinn finally said. "I just don't think you'd like me."

"How do you know?"

"Because I'm a fatty."

Artie looked at her seriously with a tilt to his head. "No," he finally declared, slowly. "No you're not a fatty."

"Yes I am." She tossed her blonde head. "Everyone at school says so!"

"An elephant's fat. You're not." Artie returned, shrugging. He stuck out his hand. "I'm Artie."

"Quinn." She reluctantly stretched out her own hand, but when they shook on their introduction, she couldn't help the smile that triumphed on her pretty face.

When Artie went to school (Red Apple Elementary, the same school she went to) he was instantly liked by everyone. He was smart, enthusiastic, athletic, and funny. Best of all, his qualities were contagious. Standing next to Artie, you felt as if you could do anything. He was just one of those boys. Quinn had expected that Artie would ditch her in favour of hanging out with the boys in the class, but he surprised her by sitting with her at lunch every day, trading his turkey and cheese sandwich for her peanut butter and jelly. None of the other kids could figure out why Artie wanted to hang out with "Fatty". Daniela Cooper even went up to him after a few weeks to inform him that "Quinn had special fatty cooties, and he'd better get away from him if he didn't want to catch them." Quinn had been upset by the comment, tears springing to her eyes as she pushed away from the desk (it was the start of winter so they ate inside). Daniela was right. Nobody wanted to hang out with her.

"Quinn, where are you going?" Artie stared up evenly at Daniela, big eyes stern. "Elephants are fatties. Quinn isn't."

Daniela huffed. "Yes, she is!"

"No she isn't. And she doesn't have cooties."

"Yes she does!" Quinn was frozen, standing beside her chair, neck and cheeks cherry red.

"No, she doesn't. _You_ have cooties!" At this, the entire of the third grade class gasped. Nobody told Daniela Cooper she had cooties. Not even Artie, the cool new kid. Daniela had been so upset she'd burst into tears and told the teacher about Artie's comment after the lunch hour (she "forgot" to mention anything about taunting Quinn). Artie apologized. The teacher forced them to hug.

But Quinn was in awe for the rest of that day- heck, the rest of that week! Nobody had ever defended her like that before. Artie was the only person she knew of who would dare to speak up against Daniela. She knew, as they scrambled into Mrs. Abrahams' car- Artie's mom picked them up from school since Quinn's mom had to work- that she was in love with Artie, her knight in shining armour.

As the years went on, things changed. Quinn hated change. It never worked in her favour, and it always seemed to happen when she was least ready for it. In grade four, Artie started hanging out with other people- really hanging out with them. Sometimes, he'd even forget about Quinn (something he apologized for profusely when she admitted that it upset her). In grade five, Quinn's father died in a car accident. She hadn't gotten to see him much because he was a travelling business man and his trips rarely accommodated her, but he was her father and she loved him. In grade six, her mom started dating someone new (who Quinn actually liked and looked up to). The summer before grade seven, Quinn's mom broke up with her boyfriend Rex, and in September of that year, she learned what a "cheater" was. Apparently Rex had been sleeping with someone else behind her mother's back.

But Artie was there for her through everything. It didn't matter how big or how small, how dumb or important, he was always by her side as soon as she needed him. Sometimes he didn't have to say anything- him just being there was more than enough of a comfort to her.

Grade eight came. Artie became more aware of girls. Especially Daniela, the girl had hit puberty at the age of eleven and now boasted shiny hair, big breasts and supermodel legs. It hurt Quinn whenever she watched Artie and Daniela interact- Artie had grown and filled out, he was easily one of the best-looking boys in the class.

Quinn hated herself during grade eight. Every night she'd stare in front of the mirror, wishing that her rounded cheeks and puffy waistline would somehow magically morph into Daniela's flawless, socially-accepted body. On New Year's Eve, when she found out that Artie had asked Daniela to be his "girlfriend" (elementary school relationships were so juvenile, but they were undeniably messy for everyone involved), she made the resolution to go on a diet. Well, something of a diet. She remembered starving herself and waking up one day a few weeks later, passed out in the school nurse's office.

It was all for nothing anyway. She was just a blubbery girl and nothing (not even denying herself food) would change her shape. Her mother kept her home from school for the next week and prayed for her. Artie came to visit her on Friday night, and surprise, surprise, he was angry with her for being so careless.

"Why would you do that, Quinn? You could've died!" He'd never been angry with her before, she chose to get angry right back.

"Because I'm ugly, Artie! Okay?"

"How many times do we have to go over-"

"No!" She'd cut him off, slamming down her fork. Her mother had made her ham and mashed potatoes for dinner, and after ensuring that she ate a first serving, heaped a second one onto her plate. "I'm not beautiful! Take off your stupid fucking rose-coloured glasses, because you need to see the real me! The real, fat, ugly, disgusting _me_!" Quinn remembered shaking, she was so pissed off. She was mad at herself for believing that a crash diet would be successful, she was mad at her mother for hovering over her now whenever it was time to eat. She was mad at Artie for falling for Daniela, and she was mad at Daniela for just being so perfect.

"The only ugly thing I'm seeing right now," Artie said in that same, calm, Artie voice that he always used. She waited for the verbal slap. He was going to tell her how much of a whale she really was. "Is your attitude."

Artie took the seat beside her after that, waiting until she was finished to suggest that they watch movies and eat ice cream. Mrs. Fabray let him stay the night (sleeping on the couch. Quinn was even surprised that she let him sleepover, she was ultra-conservative). Quinn knew that she looked awful, but it had been one of the best nights of her life.

For her thirteenth birthday in February, Artie got her a kitten. She was a beautiful tortoiseshell, named Sky for her bright blue eyes. Quinn had never loved something so much- but she would soon learn to hate Sky. Hate the cat with an overwhelming passion that was definitely "seven deadly sins" worthy.

If Quinn could've done something differently- rewound time, changed just one aspect of her life- it would have been getting that cat. She would have told Artie that she didn't want it (who buys their best friend a cat as a present, anyway? She would've been just as happy with a book or even a card). But as it was, life is one of those non-refundable rip-offs that cheat people out of happiness. So Quinn had no idea that by taking Sky home that night would forever change the course of both her and Artie's lives.

Sky was a rambunctious kitten, always getting into a new kind of trouble. Quinn found her mischievous nature amusing- she and Artie would laugh every time Sky did something new, which was nearly every day.

The thing about Sky was that she also seemed to have some weird sort of sixth sense- whenever an impending visit to the veterinarian was near, she would claw her way up to a high, hard-to-reach place (like the kitchen cabinets, one day she ended up curled on the fridge) hiding from her mistress.

On that dreadful day, Sky had let her paranoia take her to the roof of Quinn's house (aided by the open window in Quinn's bedroom. She usually kept it closed, but fate had a way of mixing things up). Quinn's mother hadn't been home (she, too, had a doctor's appointment. But as soon as she got home, she wanted to take Sky to the vet's). With no one else to turn to, when Quinn found her precious kitten with a death grip on the roof, she'd called the one person who'd always been there. _Artie_.

If he'd said no- God, if he'd said no!- things would have been different. But like the best friend he was, he came over anyway, armed with a ladder and a cat treat to coax Sky down.

She'd simply stood there, outside in the front of the house, wringing her hands, a niggling feeling in her gut. Quinn had never thought much of "gut feelings" until that moment, and she only started believing in them when the situation was over, in hindsight.

She'd watched as Artie climbed up the roof, relaxed (as he always was). Sky had waved her tail, purring happily when she recognized him. She loved Artie, especially his epic belly rubs.

"C'mere Sky." Artie cajoled, now fully up on the roof. Her tail continued to wave, she moved back, it was almost like she was smiling.

Stupid fucking cat from hell.

It was fruitless to try and catch her. As she watched them, Quinn was reminded of the time she'd gone camping with Artie's family in the fifth grade. She and Artie had spent their days in the lake, and their nights were occupied with the frustratingly impossible task of catching fireflies. Sky was just like a firefly. Quick, fleeting, never to be captured by human hands.

Their movements were almost like a dance; Artie would go forward, Sky would dart back. Artie would lunge for her, Sky would pounce away. Except, the third time he lunged, she fell right over the edge of the roof, and he, having nothing to grab onto, went with her.

The whole thing was a blur. Quinn remembered watching, mouth open in horror, as Sky shrieked, hitting the ground, splayed out on her stomach. Artie fell on top of her with a sickening _thud!_ sound.

"Artie!" She screamed.

"Go… get… Mom." He gasped, through the- Quinn imagined- unbearable pain. Quinn nodded stupidly and took off, the only thought registering in her shocked brain was: _I thought cats were supposed to land on their feet._

She'd been crying and out of breath by the time she'd sprinted the twenty nine steps it took to get to the Abrahams' house. Artie's mom answered the door, and Quinn had blubbered and cried. The woman seemed to recognize that something awful had happened, and she hurried over to where her son now lay, unconscious from the fall.

Quinn had always wished that the day had turned out differently. Artie's mother had called the paramedics, who arrived and rushed him away. Sky was already dead by the time they came for Artie- a combination of her fall and being suffocated by Artie's back. Quinn hitched a ride to the hospital with Mrs. Abrahams and Benjamin, who called his father at work with the devastating news.

Quinn could never remember praying so damn hard in her life. She just sat in a hard plastic chair in the emergency room and prayed to God for a miracle- she wanted, no, _needed_ Artie to live. How would she get by without him? How would everyone else cope? He wasn't meant to die, he was only thirteen!

Quinn had also never seen someone be treated to so quickly in the hospital. Sure, she'd witnessed it on TV, but she'd always thought that trauma victims being swarmed by concerned doctors and nurses was a dramatic thing to boost ratings. When Artie was brought in, she saw a whole surgical team in green scrubs surround him, speaking with medical dialect and looking grave as gargoyles.

It might have been cool, if Artie wasn't on his deathbed.

Seven hours later, when Artie's attending doctor, one Dr. Lionel Sanchez, came out to reveal the condition of his patient, he spewed a whole bunch of technical mumbo-jumbo that Quinn couldn't even begin to understand. The rest of the family looked just as hopeless. He put it in plain terms for them:

"Basically, your son's alive…" Quinn had never been so fortunate at that time. He was alive, thank you God! "But he's paralyzed from the waist down." What the fuck?! Quinn's eyes misted over with a fresh batch of tears. So much for miracles.

* * *

**I'm not sure if I like this. Props for a new pairing, though? There will be a second part, and any feedback is appreciated, just to let me know how I'm doing, what could be changed, etc. thanks in advance. I know it doesn't have a very romantic tone to it yet, but it's coming (maybe). I originally started out with a different idea for this story, but this is what came out. Anyway, please click the review button and let me know what you think =)**


	2. Chapter 2

The past was the past for a reason. It contained previous experiences that were not meant to be looked at too closely or rehashed. Especially not in Quinn's case. And she knew this, which was why she did her best not to dwell on her life leading up to this point. Why not live for the present? In the present, she was skinny, popular, everything she'd aspired to be in the eighth grade. And if she thought about who she'd been, how much she'd lost in the process of becoming who she currently was, her carefully-constructed façade might just fall apart on her. She couldn't very well have that, could she?

But fate liked to screw with her, as she'd known and was about to relearn that day. It was mid-November and still ridiculously hot outside. Wearing a skin-tight cheerleading uniform was not only an excuse to expose "naughty bits" but to maintain a comfortable body temperature underneath the blazing afternoon sun. Coach Sylvester was working them hard, like her own pack of prize-winning sled dogs, trying to toughen them up so that they'd be fit to perform on national television, courtesy of Fox network. Of course, when Coach wasn't yelling at them to "stand up straight!" or "put some more fucking _pep_ in that cartwheel!" (oh yeah, when Sylvester was by herself, the F bombs flew around like they were going out of style) she was yelling at them about how weak they were. She pushed for perfection, and the thing was, she usually got it.

Quinn knew because she'd been on Sylvester's "invincible" squad since freshman year, and it was only this year that she'd been promoted to captain.

As Quinn silently climbed to the top of the human pyramid, she was thinking of Artie. It wasn't typical for him to be in her brain during school hours- usually she managed to keep herself mentally exhausted by thinking of Finn and the cheerleading squad and what stores she wanted to visit on the weekend. Trivial things like that. Thoughts of Artie only entered her brain late at night when she was tucked into bed and the darkness surrounded her, reminding her that she was a horrible person who deserved much less than what she'd gotten. She saw Artie's smiling face whenever she closed her eyelids, trying to sleep. She saw how happy and full of life he was. Then she saw what life had done to him- what he'd become, and she couldn't stop from crying a little bit. Not that she always cried, but on most nights the tears were inevitable. Her nightlife was ruled by guilt. But nobody else could ever know.

Just before she took her place at the top of the pyramid structure, she saw him. It was only from the corner of her eye and he was distant, but she was sure it was him. And he was being wheeled along by Puck and some of his jock friends.

Jesus Christ. Quinn's stomach did a painful kick flip, making her dizzy. She knew where they were heading. The port-a-potties. As if Artie's life didn't already suck ass, the jocks had to make it worse by picking on him. Over the years, as their mean streaks had become more pronounced, so had their choice of prank. Every time Quinn heard about what they had done or were planning to do to Artie, she had to will herself to be deaf. Command her ears to close against the acts of evil they were hearing.

She imagined Artie's face, contorted in terror as Puck rolled him along to meet his doom. He had no way to escape, no one to turn to for support; he'd be covered in human feces if someone didn't step up and do anything! Quinn shifted slightly in order to have a better view of Artie, and in the next second, her foot slipped and she was tumbling to the ground.

"Quinn!" The human pyramid disembarked, the girls all fanning around her like concerned geese. Sylvester was stomping towards the huddle, looking grim, and Quinn just lay there on her back, the sun beating against her face, wondering if she was finally getting her just deserts.

"C'mon, Fabray." Sylvester yanked her to her feet. Quinn was bitterly disappointed to find that she could still stand. "You okay?" The coach asked gruffly.

"Yeah, I think so." Quinn answered, feeling every crevice in her body ooze with invisible guilt.

"Take a fifteen minute breather on the bleachers, Fabray. I don't want you screwing up on simple routines." Sylvester dismissed her just like that, the blonde girl shuffled to the stands as she'd been ordered. She was up and walking away from the scene unharmed, just like last time. The shame was overpowering, like the smell of Axe cologne in the hallways.

She'd not only ruined his life, she'd destroyed their friendship.

Immediately following the accident, nobody (not even her own mother) could tear Quinn from Artie's bedside. The only time she ever left him was when the hospital staff kicked her out, or when she had to go to school; where she forged a mostly one-way friendship with Daniela (it was one-way because the queen bee decided to make Quinn her psychiatrist. Quinn had no say in the matter, and still wasn't very comfortable with her). Slowly but surely, as Artie began to recover and got well enough to go to school, Quinn had been integrated into the "cool" crowd. Mostly because she was the only one with updates on Artie, the rest of them couldn't be bothered to go to the hospital and check in on him themselves.

But when Artie, confined to his wheelchair, returned to class, the whole social pecking order changed. Devon Fanning was the new "cool kid" and Artie was the new "stay away from him because he's different and we don't want to try and understand him" person. The kids didn't realize that he was still the same old, fun-loving guy that he'd always been. They preferred to avoid him now, and when weekend plans were being made, he was never within earshot (and if he happened to be, the person who brought up hang-outs was glared at). Quinn couldn't comprehend their shocking behaviour. Even more surprising was that she- Quinn Fabray, still chunky and nerdy- _was_ invited to go places and do things. Apparently, Daniela had reconsidered her position on the social totem pole and decided that she needed to be up higher.

That's how it started. Quinn was busy, trying to keep up with her newfound social life. Artie spent most of his free time visiting a physical therapy clinic, adjusting to life with his handicap. She still made time for him when she could, but the more time she spent with the people who had formerly ignored her, the more she craved their company, not Artie's. She'd been horrible to him, in those last few months of grade eight, ignoring his phone calls, electing to spend weekends and afternoons with Daniela and her posse, choosing to pretend that Artie was not there. She'd also convinced herself that she wasn't in love with the boy anymore- but it was only because she was scared. He wasn't the Artie she remembered. The Artie she knew wasn't disabled. He was popular. He could walk. He was everything she'd ever wanted. But he wasn't that way now, and that was part of the reason Quinn pushed him away.

The worst part, Quinn thought in retrospect, was that Artie never said anything. He never verbally expressed his confusion or hurt- actually yes, he had. Only once. He'd asked her to hear him out, so she did. She'd heard, alright, but she hadn't actually _listened._

"Now that I'm crippled, nobody wants to hang out with me." Artie had resigned himself to that fact, smiling a little sourly. "Not even you."

"That's not true." She'd only said it because it was one of those things people were _supposed_ to say, like when Daniela insisted she was fat or ugly, or had a really noticeable zit on her face. Even if she did have a big red splotch the size of Arkansas between her eyes, Quinn hastened to assure her that it wasn't true. Just as she did with Artie.

"Don't be stupid, Quinn."

"I'm not!" She frowned. "What's your deal, Artie?"

"My _deal_ is that my back is broken, I can't feel anything from the waist down, and my supposed best friend doesn't give a shit."

"That's not true." Quinn repeated, shrinking. They were in the schoolyard, on the blacktop, having a serious discussion while the girls preened and the boys played tackle football in the field.

"Yes it is." Artie refuted stubbornly. "You've changed, Quinn. You became…"

"What? A bitch?" She didn't expect him to agree. It shouldn't have hurt so much when he nodded.

"You said it, not me."

Quinn was so pissed off that she didn't see Daniela, bouncing up next to her.

"Hey." The dark-haired girl greeted her. "Is he bothering you?"

Artie's eyes flashed. He was hurt. Quinn pretended not to notice.

"No." She answered dutifully.

"Well, come on, then! John wants you to watch him play football." Daniela gave her arm a tug and without another word to Artie, Quinn retreated to the grass. A place where he couldn't go, because driving his wheelchair on the grass was like murder, and he wasn't very good at steering anyway.

She didn't look back.

That summer, she enrolled herself in a weight loss camp, and had surprisingly positive results. By the time she came back, ready to start high school, she was thin- nicely thin- and boys paid her more attention. She barely noticed Artie on the first day of school. Or at least, she pretended she didn't see him wheeling onto the ramp of his mom's van. He'd gotten glasses and a haircut, but he was still the same.

She couldn't look at him for too long. She might just start feeling bad for him and disgusted with herself. During her time at camp she'd convinced herself she didn't need to worry about him. High school was coming up anyway, he'd find lots of new friends.

Quinn soon learned that high school was just like grade school- rumours, split-second relationships, sexual innuendos and pointless drama- only it was a lot worse. She became so lost in the tides of students trying to be somebody that she almost forgot about Artie.

Almost. Clearly, she'd never be over what happened. But she liked to pretend she was because then she could go about her day-to-day life without falling apart like an emotional wreck. There were nights she genuinely missed him, bawled like a baby for him, wanted to tell him that she was sorry for being such a self-absorbed bitch. But to talk to Artie, to tell him all of that, would be as useless as chasing fireflies. Things would never go back to the way they'd been before, they'd never be best friends.

But maybe it wasn't as hopeless as she'd first thought…

If she'd had any conscious control over herself, Quinn might have mentally wondered why she was doing this: getting up off the bleachers (Sylvester was too wrapped up in the rest of the team to notice) and sprinting for the port-a-potties. She got there just as Puck was about to push the portable toilet over, no doubt covering poor Artie with human excrement.

"_Stop_!" She shouted. Her voice was ragged, her heart was exploding against her ribcage. Puck and his friends turned to look at her, immediately respectful. She was Finn's girlfriend after all, even if he'd betrayed them to join glee. She advanced upon the football players, none of them moved.

"Yeah?" Puck asked casually, leaning against the port-a-potty. Quinn could already smell the stench. She felt awful for Artie.

"Let Artie out."

"What?"

"Artie…" they stared at her, their faces blank. "The kid in the wheelchair!" She snapped, exasperated. "Let him out. I have to talk to him." Curious, Puck freed the paraplegic and shoved him toward Quinn. He was staring up at her, breath heavy, eyes wide behind his glasses. She forced herself not to look at him, wrinkling her nose against the still-evident smell.

"Get lost!" She ordered Puck and his goons. "I have to talk to him." They did as she asked, moving out of the way.

She rounded on Artie. "What were you doing? Why didn't you yell for help?"

"Nobody would've heard me. And if they had, nobody would've cared." Artie shrugged like it was a fact of life. Quinn winced. How could he be so blasé? How could he not be angry with those stupid assholes for bullying him like that?

"Thanks anyway." Artie began rolling away. She hadn't the faintest idea what possessed her to do it, but she followed him.

"Where are you going?" She inquired.

"Why do you care?" He snorted. She knew she deserved that.

"Artie-"

"What?"

"Nothing, never mind."

They ended up in the basement auditorium. Nobody else was there. Artie wheeled himself up onto the stage, she pursued him like an adoring child might follow their parent.

"Why are you here?" She asked. "I mean, nobody else is-"

"I like to be early. It gives me time to think."

"About?" She felt uncomfortably tall compared to the boy who used to tower over her so she sat down next to him, Indian-style. She could feel her skirt riding up a little bit but it didn't matter; it was only Artie. Even if he tried something slimy (which she was pretty sure he wouldn't) she could outrun him.

Artie laughed. A bitter sound. He shouldn't have been so dismal; it scared her. "Again, why would you care?"

"Look, I just saved your ass-" she started petulantly.

"I could've handled it." He cut her off harshly. "And why are _you_ taking to _me_ anyway? It's not like I matter."

_It's not like I matter._ She felt as if she'd been punched in both eyes. Literally, they stung. She bowed her head, staring at her folded hands. Tears spilled over. She wiped them away hastily, but not quickly enough.

"Don't cry." His voice had morphed; instead of nonchalant and cold it was the same warm one that she remembered. The one that she so desperately needed to hear at that moment. "I'm sorry, Quinn." She almost laughed, but refrained. _He_was sorry? He had nothing to apologize for (other than those fugly sweater vests he always wore, but that was excusable, given the circumstances). The duo sat in silence for an infinite number of minutes (it was actually closer to six and a half) before Quinn just blurted it out.

"I'm sorry!"

"For what?" He looked at her, truly bemused, she couldn't hold his gaze, twisting the purity ring around on her finger. She'd stuck to her chastity vow since making it in the ninth grade (after Daniela dropped out because she was pregnant), she'd always told herself that it was because she wanted to wait until marriage. But maybe… maybe she'd done it because Artie technically couldn't have sex, and she was punishing herself by making sure that she wouldn't, either. Not until she was old and confident about settling down.

"For everything." She didn't have to elaborate. He knew that she was referring to their sordid past.

"It's okay."

"No," she stood and wiped at her moistened eyes again. Jeez, if she kept crying like this her mascara would run! "I suck at being a friend. You deserve so much more." It suddenly occurred to her that she had it within her immediate power to give that 'so much more' to him. She could make him a somebody, lift him from the pits of hell (AKA the basement, AKA glee), get him a girlfriend. His life would be peachy keen, she could be like his fairy godmother!

"It's not okay." She took a deep breath. "Do you want to sit with my friends and I at lunch?"

It took about a half a second for him to respond, and it definitely wasn't what she'd hoped for. He threw back his head and laughed heartily, as if she'd just suggested he get up from his wheelchair and do the chicken dance.

"You don't have to be so rude about it." She folded her arms over her chest, concealing the pain of rejection by appearing snooty. "I was only trying to help."

"By what? Making me popular? Quinn, in all honesty, I couldn't give a shit about being adored by people."

"But _why_?" She frowned down at him, utterly perplexed. "Everybody likes to be known."

"Sometimes the only thing you need is to be loved."

"How can you be one without the other?" She puzzled.

He smiled gently, as if she were a child too young to grasp something serious. "Daniela Cooper was known. You were loved."

Her cheeks burned as his words clicked in. _'You were loved'_ did that mean that he was in love with her? He was smiling, abashed, and she recalled that day in the third grade when he defended her.

"Thanks. You're loved too."

He glanced up swiftly in surprise. She slapped a hand over her mouth.

"You didn't say 'were' as in past tense. You said-"

"I know." She could've, should've, just blamed the word vomit as a mistake. She hadn't meant to say that he was still loved, but….

When she looked at him, all she could see was that boy from the third grade. The one she'd first loved, the one she still did. The chair disappeared. And suddenly, she was leaning down, to be at level with his lips. He was leaning forward. They were so close she could feel his breathe…

"Whoa!" Quinn jumped back, whipping around to see Finn and Rachel, staring at she and Artie from the floor of the auditorium.

"Is there something I should know about?" Finn asked. Quinn turned beet red as she stared at him, she didn't even care that Rachel was standing next to him, looking like she'd just been told that one day she would be the most famous actress in the world (yeah, right!) and Santa Claus was real.

"No, I…" Quinn sighed. "Finn, can we talk?"

"Sure."

She jumped off from the stage, shooting a pleading look at Artie (who looked torn between bemusement and mortification). She followed Finn backstage, and even though Rachel had probably found someway to listen in, Quinn blurted it out. The whole freaking story. Everything. Even her feelings about Artie.

"Do you still love him now?" Finn was way too calm for a guy who'd almost witnessed his puritan girlfriend kiss someone else.

"I think so." Might as well be honest. "Do you love Rachel?" There was no malice in her voice, just plain honesty.

"I think I'm starting to." She was way too calm for a girl who'd just learned that her boyfriend was into somebody else. "So, are you gonna tell Artie?"

"No."

"You should, I think he'd appreciate it." Finn departed without a word. Quinn just stood there, blinking. She'd just gotten dumped by her boyfriend… she felt nothing. Come to think of it, she'd never felt anything when her past relationships had ended, either. But maybe that's because someone else had held her heart all along.

She stayed backstage until the end of rehearsal, when Artie finally came to look for her.

"Hey." He was nervous, she recognized it.

"Hey."

"Look, I'm sorry about-"

"I love you."

"_What_?"

"Yeah."

"Are you sure-"

"Can I kiss you? I've been wanting to since I was thirteen." Now that the confession was off her chest, she felt a bit better. He only nodded, and as their lips connected, simultaneously releasing a burst of glee (how ironic) in her chest, Quinn realized something. After years of trying, chasing, avoiding, she'd finally caught a firefly.

* * *

**Hmm, I'm not sure if I like the ending. I originally wanted it to be angsty, with Quinn and Artie not getting a second chance to rekindle their love, but I decided that the world needs more happy endings. Even if they're only fictional. On a side note, don't you hate it when people steal your ideas and words? They might not have taken what you wrote word-for-word, but they paraphrased, and didn't give you any credit. I know I hate it when that happens, and the only consolation is that none of this is written for profit. Otherwise we'd have a lawsuit on our hands (or not, because I suck at confrontation). I won't name names, but I'm extremely dissapointed in someone. OH, and before I forget, thank you Violet-Shadow for telling me how to correctly spell Artie's surname. One of these days I might go back and correct the first chapter. I hope the ending made you happy inside. Or something like that.**

**Anyway, please let me know what you thought =). Did the happy ending work, or should I have written the original, angst-filled one?**


End file.
